


Grave Conversations

by hellokhaleesi



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Cemetery, Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, Making Out, No Plot/Plotless, Talking To Dead People
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 01:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1762029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellokhaleesi/pseuds/hellokhaleesi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Confused about her feelings for Oliver, and with no one else to talk to, Felicity visits Tommy’s grave, unaware Oliver is also on his way to visit his old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grave Conversations

“Hi, Tommy,” she said awkwardly. “you might remember me, I’m Felicity.”

 

She had, of course, spoken to graves before. She spoke to those of her grandparents regularly as a teenager, often divulging information to them that she never would have dared tell anyone who could truly hear her. She wasn’t a believer in ghosts, or the afterlife. It was just speaking to something that represented someone was better than talking to thin air, and made her feel a little less insane.

 

The graveyard was empty, and it seemed like she was the only one visiting today. She was thankful; the last thing she needed was Laurel or (God forbid) Oliver turning up as she poured her heart out to the grave of a man who wouldn’t be able to pick her out of a line up. She huffed out a sigh, placing her jacket on the damp grass in front of the gravestone, and settling herself down. She gently laid the flowers she brought with her by her side.

 

“You’ll remember Oliver, obviously.” she smiled. “You know, best friend, betrayal story, all that jazz. He says you died hating him, but I think he’s probably wrong. Best friends never really hate each other, do they?” Tommy remained infuriatingly silent.

 

“Okay, well you should probably know that I came here to talk to you about Oliver.” She paused, wondering how to continue. “It’s weird, me being here. I should be on a forum, or something. But, I’m not exactly a people person; I say the wrong thing and I mess up and I stutter, panic and flail. I think maybe I have to learn to be a people person. And yes, I know, if I want to be a people person maybe I should speak to people who can actually hear me but I’m a hacker who works for a hooded vigilante so maybe doing things the conventional way just isn’t for me.”

 

She glanced around, making sure she was truly alone, and that no one just heard her say that she was not only a hacker, but a hacker to someone wanted for obstruction of justice and murder. She really needed to get control of her mouth.

 

“So, here I am. Felicity Smoak, talking to a grave about feelings.”

 

She took a deep breath, unjustified fear setting in. “I guess I could beat this around the bush some more, but I get the feeling you probably don’t need the small talk. I think I’m falling in love with Oliver.”

 

She waited, before scolding herself that there was obviously no dramatic instrumental music, no fireworks, and certainly no response. “I really do. And it’s wrong, so so wrong. I can’t be thinking about him like that if we’re on a mission, it could cost someone their life. I certainly can’t be like that with him while I remain his bloody assistant.”

 

The wind howled behind her, tangling itself through some trees in what a more mystical human being might call Tommy’s response, but Felicity knew that the wind was far too dull; if Tommy was going to truly make an effort to contact her from beyond the grave, something would probably be on fire. There was a storm brewing - a real one, not a metaphorical one - and the clear sky began to darken, the clouds moving in and out of streams of sunlight. The air grew thicker, damper.

 

“I don’t even know why I’m here.” she groaned. “Some divine understanding of what I should do? What’s the point?” She stood up, quickly putting her coat back on before the sky opened and she was left, standing alone in a graveyard, soaking wet.

 

“Maybe I just need to get over myself.”

 

“Maybe you need to get drunk.”

 

The new voice startled her out of her skin, and she let out a small yelp. She felt the blood rush from her face, her muscles tightened in blind fear and her mouth went dry as sand. Oliver walked over to her, completely calm and collected while she was on the brink of a nervous breakdown.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.” he smiled, a little awkwardly. “And don’t worry, I didn’t hear what you were talking about, but you look stressed.”

 

A breath she wasn’t aware she was holding flew from her mouth, and the colour returned to her face. “It’s fine, really.”

 

“I hope I’m not prying, but why are you speaking to Tommy’s grave?”

 

She paused. Truthfully, she had gone to Tommy because he knew Oliver better than anyone. She couldn’t have gone to Diggle, because he was too close to both of them. Anyone she worked with was out of the question, because they’d figure out why she had her reservations from the get go and that is not the sort of thing she wanted to become common knowledge. Her mother would disapprove of her feelings for any son of a billionaire, never mind one with potential mental health issues brought on by undiagnosed PTSD, and that accounted for everyone she knew. Tommy was unbiased, fun loving and most importantly, he cared about Oliver. No matter what he said.

 

“Just needed to talk… about, something.” she stammered. It was a terrible lie, but given the things he had tried to get past her - honestly, a hangover cure in a syringe? - she felt she might get away with it on a technicality. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she panicked. “I mean, I needed to talk to someone about it, but not a real person. I’m really, bad… like, terrible at talking to people and I couldn’t go to anyone about this but I can’t just talk to myself so I came to a graveyard which I know sounds really creepy, and I’m sorry… this isn’t the sort of thing I could go to my grandparent’s graves about and honestly you just make Tommy sound like such a nice guy so it made sense to come here and I’m sorry, I’ll stop talking now.” She bit her tongue until she was sure she tasted blood, wincing at herself. Oliver looked shell-shocked, as well as slightly amused.

 

“You could always talk to me, Felicity.” he said simply.

 

She laughed. “Not about this. It’s about a guy.” When he laughed, she grimaced. “Oh, my… I sound like a thirteen year old girl, I’m leaving. Bye, Oliver.” She gave a small wave and promptly turned around and began half-walking, half-running away from him.

 

Oliver watched her go curiously, hair bobbing in her wake as the first drops of rain began to fall.

 

~.~.~.~

 

When Oliver returned to the Foundry, he found Diggle working out. He must have looked bemused, or thoughtful, because his friend asked him what happened the second he laid eyes on him. Oliver recounted the curious interaction with Felicity.

 

When he was done, Diggle just stared at him. “Right, so Felicity was at your best friend’s grave - a man she didn’t know - to talk about her feelings for a guy…”

 

“Yeah. Weird, huh?”

 

“...and she had a heart attack when she saw you, panicked and started rambling, then ran away.”

 

“Yeah, like I said, weird.”

 

Diggle stared at him incredulously. “How is it you can see an arrow come at you faster than a racehorse but you can’t see this right in front of your face?”

 

Oliver’s brow furrowed. “I have no idea…”

 

“It’s you, Oliver!” Diggle huffed. “Felicity was talking to _your_ best friend, she panicked when _you_ came over, she won’t talk to _you_ about what she feels because Felicity is in love with _you_.” With that, he pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on and started attacking the dummy again, without so much as a word. Oliver opened his mouth to retaliate, but said nothing. Put like that, it was… almost plausible. But this was Felicity, and she would never think of him like that.

 

~.~.~.~

 

Her apartment was small, cramped and very, very Felicity. The sofa was covered with mismatched cushions, flowers dotted every other surface and there were several laptops piled in one corner. When he left the Foundry that evening, he had no intention of turning up at her building, or seeking her out at all. Diggle’s words had been reverberating around his brain like shockwaves from an earthquake all afternoon, and evening, and he had to get out of the increasingly claustrophobic basement of his old nightclub. He had donned his leathers, grabbed his bow and gone to the first rooftop he had found, running and jumping across the skyline of Starling City in an effort to make his body feel something other than the new, peculiar feeling it was being flooded with.

 

Hope.

 

He never would have predicted that his own feelings for Felicity lay dormant underneath layers of denial, instinct to separate himself from everyone and everything and a reluctance to mess with the chemistry she, Diggle and himself all shared as a team. But, when his partner forced him to acknowledge his feelings - however unconsciously - something inside Oliver stirred up in the most terrifying of ways.

 

He didn’t linger on her fire escape, knowing exactly how it would look if she found him, so he knocked on the window.

 

She was sat, quite peacefully, with a cup of green tea and a chocolate muffin on her sofa. When she heard the knock, she nearly spilled the hot liquid all over herself.

 

“Oliver?”

 

He was sat awkwardly outside her window in his green leathers, hood up. She glared at him, suddenly feeling very exposed in her cotton shorts and tank top pyjamas. Scowling, she got up and let him in through the window.

 

“God forbid you use a phone, Oliver.” she snapped. When he didn’t say anything, she huffed. “What do you want?”

 

“I’m not actually sure.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Well, we can start with tea or coffee.”

 

She nodded to the sofa, and he took a seat, slightly stunned, muttering he would like a coffee, and thanking her. He felt remarkably out of place in her home; it was colour and light and memories, and he was dark and didn’t belong. He had far too many demons to have a place in her tiny apartment. Looking at the TV in front of him, he realised he interrupted a film, one he didn’t recognise. The box for a DVD was on the table in front of the sofa.

 

The film was called ‘Big Fish’, and although he’d never seen it, it sounded fanciful, romantic and a little bit confusing. Oliver wondered how much like Felicity that was.

 

She set a coffee in front of him, blushing when she saw the case in his hands. “I like Tim Burton films, I always have.” He shrugged, setting it down and thanked her for the coffee.

 

“So, why did you turn up at my place at,” She checked the time on her phone. “half past eleven at night?”

 

“I didn’t mean to.” he grimaced. “Sorry it’s so late, but I didn’t mean to end up here. Digg said something today, something that… well, it hasn’t been bothering me, but it just made me think.”

 

“Are you okay?”

 

He looked at her. There was nothing but true honest concern on her face, her eyes staring straight at him. He’d never noticed how blue they were from behind her glasses. He shook himself internally.

 

“I’m fine, but if I ask you something, can you promise to give me an honest answer? And know that if the answer is no, that this is all Digg’s fault for saying it to begin with because honestly, it’s been going through my mind all day. If the answer is no, I’ll laugh, so will you, and then I’ll go and we’ll never have to talk about it again.” He chuckled nervously, but it sounded strained and awkward.

 

She swallowed heavily. “And if the answer is yes?”

 

“I haven’t got that far yet.”

 

The corners of her mouth twitched as she suppressed a smirk, shaking her head. “Fine, shoot.”

 

Licking his lip nervously, he waited until she set her cup down to ask. “Are you in love with me?”

 

She froze like a photograph. He didn’t need her to say it then, because he recognised the look on her face as pure panic; it was the same pure fear that he had on his face when Laurel first hinted at moving in together, it’s the kind of fear you feel when someone shoves your own feelings in your face and forces you to acknowledge them when you’re trying your hardest not to.

 

He prayed he was right as a wide smile stretched across his face. He leaned forward, stopping when their lips were inches apart to give her the room to back away if she wanted to. His eyes flickered down to meet her own, and they were staring back at him. She inclined her head infinitesimally, just so their lips brushed against each other, and he needed no further invitation. He pressed his mouth to hers, and she responded instantly.

 

Her hand found the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, while his wound themselves in her hair. Their mouths moved against each other quickly, as if making up for lost time. Oliver was delirious, lost in the way she tasted, the way she felt, the sounds she made when he dragged her bottom lip through his teeth. She was set on driving him insane, he was sure of it, as she softly traced her tongue across his lips.

 

His hand ghosted down her side to rest on her hip and drag her into his lap. She yelped in surprise, but quickly found her place against his body as she pushed her hips forward, drawing a growl from him. She giggled, but was quickly silenced when he kissed her firmly again, his hands spread across the sensitive skin of her ribcage.

 

She pulled away, her face losing all of its colour. “Tell me Digg isn’t on the comms.”

 

Oliver felt confusion turn to fear as he checked his ear, finding he hadn’t put it in before he left. Shaking his head, he burst into laughter, and she leaned forward, resting her head on his shoulder, laughing with him. She was panting slightly. Still chuckling, he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her to him, and she nuzzled the space in between his neck and his shoulder. They stayed there for a few minutes, before she remembered his reason for turning up at her flat to begin with. She could only smile.

  
“In answer to your question, yes, probably.” she muttered.


End file.
